Carrying On
by xBleedingBlackRosex
Summary: Fire brought them together. Could fire also split them apart? fireman!Blaine, established Klaine. Set in Stoney's "Where There's Smoke" AU


**Stoney's ****_Where There's Smoke_**** is one of my all-time favorite Klaine fanfics. Shortly after finishing it, I got caught in a firetruck blockade while driving home on a narrow street and ended up having to wait around for a little over two hours while the firemen dealt with a house fire. So, naturally, I started to write. This is what came out of that night...Enjoy!**

…

_A fire was what originally brought Blaine to Kurt._

_Blaine never suspected that a fire might also tear Kurt away from him._

"Bye, Kurt!"

"See you tomorrow!"

"Good job today, Hummel!"

Kurt smiled tiredly as his fellow cast members shuffled offstage, eager to head home after a full day of rehearsals. They were set to open in no less than a week, and every second of every day was spent perfecting their lines, perfecting their costumes, perfecting their songs, perfecting their sets. It was a madhouse. Kurt, who was playing lead in the show, obviously had the most pressure on him, and while he was honored by his starring role, he was also beginning to feel the nerves.

He passed by a small group of dancers backstage who were smoking to ease the stress – Kurt pointedly held his breath – and headed into his own private room to change into street clothes and clean off his face. He just wanted to go home and snuggle under the blankets with a nice cup of hot tea and relax.

His phone was awaiting him on his vanity. He checked it – _1 new message from Blaine Anderson_. He smiled reflexively and opened the text.

_Is it possible to drown in paperwork?_

He laughed softly to himself and texted back, _Aw, poor baby. Long day at work?_

The reply came just as he was pulling on his favorite pair of white skinny jeans. _Probably not as long as yours. Rehearsals just ended?_

_Yep_, he replied, texting one-handed as he zipped up his boots with the other. _Gonna change, head home, and crash. _He grinned when he sent that, because even though he'd moved in with Blaine over a month ago, he still thrilled to think about it. Them, sharing an apartment together. As a couple. It was a dream come true.

_My shift ends in an hour. Should be home around 9:30_, was Blaine's response.

_Don't judge me if I'm already asleep by then._ Kurt sent the text message before buttoning up his silky emerald shirt. He could practically see Blaine in his office at the station, swiveling around in his desk chair, beaming down at his cell phone as he ignored the paperwork in front of him. Kurt set down his own phone and grabbed his beige peacoat, intending to put it on. But then, after a moment of debate, he draped it over the back of his chair. He didn't know if it was the theater's heating system overcompensating for the winter chill outside, or if it was the exertion of an all-day rehearsal catching up to him, but he felt uncomfortably warm.

_Never_, Blaine texted back, along with a smiley face. Kurt chuckled at the emoticon before settling down in front of his vanity and grabbing a moist towelette. He wasn't sure why they were forced to put on all of their make-up for every rehearsal, but he did not complain. Not much, at least. He was just happy to get the part, after all. A sort of eccentric and demanding director was more than manageable in exchange for the star role of the play.

By the time he'd gotten all the make-up off his face, he was practically sweating. _I'm going to have to talk to the people who control the heating in here_, he sulked, reluctantly rolling up his sleeves as he tossed the used towelette into the trash bin. He knew that everybody else was probably already gone; he would have to wait until tomorrow to deal with the indoor temperature. He pocketed his phone, snatched up his coat and satchel, and flicked off the lights.

The second he opened the door, he felt like he'd walked into a sauna.

_This is insane!_ he complained to himself, brushing beads of sweat off his forehead as he made his way down the hall. He hadn't even realized the theater could _get_ this hot. Especially in mid-winter. He contemplated searching for the thermostat himself and lowering it, but then decided that he did not have the energy to go on a scavenger hunt, especially considering he was the last one there. As soon as he got outside, he was sure he'd cool down. The weather forecast had predicted light snowfall that evening.

And then he heard it. The crackling. The popping.

And then he _smelled_ it. It was the same smell he'd caught on Blaine dozens of times.

_Fire_.

He ran to the door leading out to the wings. The metal handle was hot. He stepped back, hesitated. He knew enough from dating a fireman to be cautious. Letting in a rush of oxygen on a contained fire was unwise. Borderline deadly. He wasn't going to risk it.

_But that's my only way out..._

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit Blaine's speed dial. His heart was racing in his chest, and he tried to take a deep, calming breath. All that achieved was ash down his throat and a coughing fit. He leaned against the wall. The line rang and rang and rang. Blaine didn't pick up. It went to voicemail.

"Shit," Kurt swore under his breath. He tried again. "Come _on_, Blaine...Answer your damn phone!"

He was met with the automated voicemail message once more. Kurt resisted the urge to throw his phone against the door as he swore again, louder this time in his growing panic. _What should I do? What am I supposed to do?_

He touched the doorknob again. It was warm, but not searing. Steeling himself, he turned the handle very slowly and cracked the door open the tiniest bit.

The heat was so intense it seemed to claw at his face. His eyes burned. The curtains had gone up in flame, spreading along the wooden stage like an expanding puddle of hell. He squinted towards the backdoor exit; he could just barely make it out. He opened the door wider. The heat consumed his entire body. He was sweating all over; he wasn't sure he could get much closer without melting.

But he had no choice. He could either wait there for the fire to consume him, or else make a run for the closest exit, which just so happened to be directly through a leg of flames branching out across the left wing of the stage.

He tried Blaine's phone one last time. Before the voicemail even kicked in, he thrust it back into his pocket. There was no other option. He was alone. He had to get out of there. Now.

He hitched the strap of his satchel higher, took a smoke-filled breath, coughed, and broke into a blind sprint towards the exit.

The closer he got to the flames, the stronger the heat became, until it was positively unbearable. He slowed to a stop. The fire was higher than he'd realized. He danced backwards, wiped his brow, tried to squint against the blinding wall of red and orange to the door. The edge of the peacoat he was carrying began to smolder. He chucked it away from him before the fire could spread to the clothing on his body. He didn't even have time to mourn the loss of the designer coat. He backed up still more.

_What do I do? What do I do!_

There was a large crack from above. Something large and dark was hurling towards him. His fear-riddled mind couldn't figure out what it was. _Will it put out the fire?_ He realized, too late, that it was the wooden rafters holding up the now-disintegrated curtains. He dove backwards, throwing his arms up for protection, but- _too slow_. He felt heavy, solid objects smashing into him, knocking him to the ground, burying him. Bruising him. Breaking him.

He could hear, muffled and distant, the sound of sirens.

_Blaine..._

…

Blaine had fought too many fires to count.

But this one scared him more than any other, hands down. No competition. Because it was at the same theater the love of his life had been rehearsing in, and he knew that Kurt had not left by the time they got the call.

_What if he's trapped in there? What if he's hurt? What if I don't reach him in time? What if-?_

He forced himself to stop. He had to be a leader; a panic attack would not have been beneficial to anybody. He went through the motions, did everything he was supposed to do, all with a tight, unyielding knot in his chest that had nothing to do with the smoke. A crowd of actors were huddled outside the theater, jostling each other to get a better look, some fascinated, others terrified.

"Is there anybody still in the building?" he demanded of one of them.

She looked panicked. "I- I don't know! K-Kurt's usually the last one out, but I- I didn't notice! I wasn't p-paying attention! I just- oh god!"

Blaine's stomach churned. He felt sick. His ears rang; his mouth was dry. Without another word, he charged inside, David and Wes plowing in after him with calls to be careful and watch his back. He hardly heard them.

"Kurt!" he shouted. No response.

"What?" David gasped. "Kurt's in here?"

"_Yes_, you idiot!" Blaine roared. "_Find_ him! _Kurt_, where are you?" He edged around the flames, farther backstage. A pile of debris in the left wing sent his heart racing a mile a minute. He knew. He knew even before he spotted the pale white hand peeking out beneath a wooden beam.

_Kurt. Oh god, please, no..._

"Kurt!"

He made quick work of excavating the young man. Kurt's usually immaculate clothing was filthied, torn and blackened by ash, his skin coated in dirt and scratches, his hair a mess, his eyes shut.

"Kurt!" he tried again, checking his pulse, trying not to cry. This was even worse than his nightmares. Because at least with nightmares, he would wake up in Kurt's arms at the end. This was reality. And it was painful. "Kurt, can you hear me? Wake up! Talk to me! Kurt!"

There was no reaction. But he could detect a pulse, a slow, steady beat that pumped hope into Blaine's own veins.

"Blaine!" he heard David holler. "Did you find him? We've got to get out, bring in the big guns!"

Without another second to spare, Blaine gathered Kurt up into his arms and ran for the exit.

"Contain the fire!" he commanded without even looking at his friends as he hurtled passed. "Put it out! Kurt needs an ambulance!"

They took over at once, not questioning his orders, catching the undertones of fear in Blaine's voice. Kurt had become part of their family over at the station; they cared about him, too. They understood Blaine's priorities, even if they weren't orthodox.

Bill caught Blaine as he burst out of the theater. A few of the actors, upon spotting Kurt's limp body, burst into tears, assuming the worst. Blaine felt about ready to join them.

"Blaine! Shit, is he-?" Bill began to demand.

"Ambulance! He needs a hospital!" Blaine managed to get out, pushing passed him, not caring that his panic was taking over his tone. "I'm sorry, I can't- I've got to-!"

Bill clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "I understand. Go. I've got this."

Blaine threw him a grateful half-smile before heading towards the ambulance parked behind the fire trucks. A few EMTs were already hurrying towards him with a stretcher. Kurt gave a gut-wrenching cough into Blaine's chest that seemed to inflate and crush his heart at the same time.

"Stay with me," he murmured fervently. "Don't leave me, baby. Stay with me..."

…

Kurt awoke feeling lost and sort of numb. He could hear a voice nearby, and it was painfully familiar, but at the moment he couldn't quite put a name to it.

"...I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't wake up...I _need_ him. He's my whole world!"

Another voice. Deeper, less familiar. "Don't think like that. Have faith."

"How?" the first voice demanded, sounding a little hysterical. Kurt felt the urge to reach out and take the man's hand, but he couldn't seem to open his eyes or move. "The love of my life is lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Have faith in _what_, exactly? In a god I don't believe in? In the doctors working here that don't love him the way I love him?"

"In him."

_Blaine._

At last, Kurt managed to recall the name. His boyfriend was sitting by his bedside, worried out of his mind, and all Kurt wanted to do was cry. But he didn't. Instead, he worked on getting control back over his body. It was unnerving, being conscious but immobile. And besides, he had to tell Blaine that everything was okay now.

"..Sttm..."

The sudden hush, and then the creak of a chair. "Kurt?" Blaine murmured anxiously, closer. Both his hands wrapped around one of Kurt's. "Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

It took all of Kurt's energy to open his eyes, and he was awarded with the sight of his boyfriend's face, hazel eyes shining with unshed tears as he broke into a grin of relief. Kurt tried to smile back, to reassure him.

"Be honest...How awful do I look?"

Blaine burst into laughter. He heard the door open and saw the flash of a handlebar mustache. _Bill_. Blaine didn't even seem to notice the older man's departure. He had buried his head into Kurt's chest, clutching Kurt's hand as if it was his own lifeline.

"_God_, you're beautiful," he breathed. He sat up, sniffed, blinked away his tears. "Absolutely, gorgeous, Kurt. Always. I just- Oh my god, I thought- I was afraid-"

"Sssh. I'm fine," Kurt croaked, his throat still thick – no doubt from all the ash he'd inhaled. He patted the spot next to him on the bed, and Blaine obediently sat down beside him, leaning close so that Kurt would not have to raise his voice. Kurt reached up and brushed a finger under Blaine's eye, catching a stray tear. "Don't cry, Blaine...Please, don't..."

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sniffling again before seeming to pull himself together. He smiled more brightly down at him. "I'm just so glad you're awake...How are you feeling?"

"A little numb," he confessed.

"That would be all the drugs they put you on," Blaine chuckled. He began playing with Kurt's fingers, the way he sometimes did when they were cuddled up on their couch watching mindless television together during a quiet night in. "You- You're sure you're not in pain?"

Kurt thought about it for a moment. His right wrist was throbbing a bit, as was his left ankle, and there were certain points all over his body that gave the dull, familiar ache of forming bruises. His head felt heavy. He reached up to find bandage across his forehead.

"You got a concussion," Blaine explained when he saw Kurt's confusion. "The doctors say it's not too bad. Nothing permanently damaged, at least." His eyes skated down and up Kurt's body, hidden under the starchy white sheets. "A twisted ankle and a sprained wrist, some pretty nasty bruises and cuts..." His gaze found Kurt's again, and suddenly Kurt saw the guilt.

"Stop it," he ordered at once, taking Blaine by surprise. Kurt had to pause for a moment to cough before continuing. "_None_ of this is your fault, Blaine. I was stupid and tried to run through the fire and there's _no_ reason to blame yourself for _any_ of this so don't you _dare_ try and beat yourself up about it. Okay?"

Blaine gave him a small smile. "Okay."

"Good." Kurt coughed again and settled back down into his pillow. Blaine reached up to stroke his cheek gently.

"I'm _so_ glad you're okay," he breathed. "There's still so many experiences I want to share with you...So many firsts and so many years to spend together and so many memories to make...If you were taken away from me now, so soon after we'd found each other, I don't think-..."

Kurt smiled softly up at him. It was strange that it was Kurt in the hospital bed, but it was Blaine who was the most upset about it all. "Blaine, honey, we always knew that there was a danger of losing each other someday. You have a dangerous job; I'm thankful for _every day_ we spend together. But I'm _fine_. There's going to be plenty more days after this."

Blaine leaned down and kissed him.

"You're incredible, you know that?"

Kurt chuckled. "You're only just now figuring that out? I'm as fabulous as-..." He broke off with a yawn, which ended in a minor coughing fit. Blaine stood up and smoothed the sheets out over Kurt's chest before bending down and planting a kiss on his bandaged forehead.

"Get some sleep, love."

"You'll be here when I wake up?" Kurt asked, his eyes already closing once more. He reached out blindly, and Blaine caught his hand with his own.

"Of course." He brought Kurt's hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. "I'll always be here. Forever."

Kurt smiled, only half-conscious. "Good. Because I plan on keeping you around forever..."

…

"Blaine, go to work."

"No."

"Blaine, go to work!"

"No!"

"Oh my god, I'm going to smack you! Go to work!"

Blaine collapsed into laughter, and Kurt followed suit a second later. Kurt was cuddled up in Blaine's lap, legs draped over Blaine's and dangling off the armrest. His injured wrist was cradled to his chest, and his head was tucked under Blaine's chin like a child's. Blaine's hand ran up and down his back absently.

"If you don't go to work you'll lose your job, and then we won't be able to pay the rent," Kurt pointed out.

"Oh please," Blaine scoffed. "I'm dating _the_ Kurt Hummel, the greatest and most sought-after actor in all of New York! We'll be living in a mansion by the end of the year!"

Kurt laughed and thumped his chest playfully with his good hand. "And _the_ Kurt Hummel is telling you to get your butt over to the station!" And, to prove that he was actually serious, he swung his legs back over the arm rest and stood up, careful not to put much pressure on his sprained ankle. Blaine groaned from the sudden distance between their bodies.

"Fine, fine," he sighed dramatically, getting to his feet as well. "Don't strain yourself too much while I'm gone, alright? Just relax. There's some leftover spicy chicken in the refrigerator if you get hungry and there's pain relievers by the bedside and-"

"Blaine!" Kurt laughed, interrupting him with a kiss. "I _know_. I live here too, remember? Go on; I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself for the evening."

Blaine smiled affectionately at him, leaning up to press his lips carefully to the yellowing bruise on Kurt's temple. He'd been released from the hospital after only two days, his ankle and wrist wrapped in gauze but otherwise perfectly healthy. There was no brain damage from the head injury and the scratches and bruises were fading quickly. He'd been extremely lucky, according to the doctors.

Since the stage of the theater needed to be refurbished after the fire – a couple backup dancers came forward the morning after to confess that they'd been smoking backstage and had not put out their cigarettes in an ash tray as they should have – the opening night of the play had been pushed back two months, leaving their male lead with plenty of time to heal. Blaine took this as an excuse to pamper Kurt and try to spoil him rotten. Kurt had hardly lifted a finger in the past few days. He'd downright insisted that Blaine keep up his shifts at the station, though, and spent his alone time at home working on some clothing designs a theater company in Manhattan wanted him to do for them.

"You worry too much," Kurt insisted.

"Is it so wrong to worry about my better half?" Blaine pouted.

Kurt chuckled and nudged him towards the door. "No, but you've been worrying for almost a week now. If you worry any longer you'll get premature stress lines. And that simply _isn't_ attractive."

Blaine laughed, getting a final kiss on the doorstep. "I'll see you later tonight."

Kurt gently closed the door after him, his fingers reaching out and ghosting along that worn bronze plaque. _Keep him safe_, he thought, no longer feeling strange for praying to a deity he did not believe in. He was asking it of fate, of Lady Fortune, of Zeus, of God, of whoever. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Blaine came back to him at the end of the day. That's all either of them ever asked for.

They lived on, day by day, appreciative of every second, knowing that there was always the chance it would be their last.

…

**Both dark and sweet at the same time. I'm either super awesome or super fail. Lol**

**Hope you enjoyed! And if you haven't already, go read ****_Where There's Smoke_****. Seriously an amazing fanfic!**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


End file.
